The elf and the sea
by Casualis
Summary: The sea…A lascivious name on his tongue, a broken sob of his soul, a painful ecstasy of his heart. ElrondLegolas slash.


The elf and the sea 

Author: Casualis (Casualis2000@yahoo.fr)

Pairings: Legolas/Elrond, Legolas/?

Summary: No one defies the sea with impunity.

Disclaimer: Not mine. Never. 

A/N: 

Thanks to the great, marvellous and sweet Dorothy for beta-reading that fic. Without the hours she spent working on my horrible grammar, I am not sure you would have understood anything at all. And as usual, thanks to my muse, Haz, whose work I admire so much and whom I love so much. 

*

_" The sea--this truth must be confessed--has no generosity. No display of manly qualities--courage, hardihood, endurance, faithfulness--has ever been known to touch its irresponsible consciousness of power."   
  
_Joseph Conrad 

_"I must down to the seas again, for the call of the running tide  
Is a wild call and a clear call that may not be denied;   
And all I ask is a windy day with the white clouds flying,   
And the flung spray and the blown spume, and the sea-gulls crying."   
_  
John Masefield, Sea Fever

*

Traders were crossing the Old Path hugging the shore, where the Anduin flowed into the blue sea. For days they had travelled, taking little rest, and weariness began to weigh on their shoulders. Their eyes were fixed on an invisible point in the distance, dark rings enhancing their ghostly appearance. Their attention was completely on reaching their goal, the white city of Minas Tirith, and they did not spare a glance to the landscape. It was not the first time they took this path, they came to Gondor at least once a year and the Old Path was the shortest way to the Kingdom. Everything was familiar, the trees, the sand, the dunes and the sea, which appeared below. But their familiarity had killed any kind of wonder.   
  
Yet, there was more than one reason to halt and watch. The view was magnificent. There was no other word. On the left, high chalky cliffs were clearly standing against the sky, the waves of the sea crushing upon their steep slopes in an explosion of froth. The oldest knew that those cliffs were the theatre of a merciless fight between the sea and the earth, a fight that the earth could not hope to win. Little by little, the ocean was gnawing on the earth, sharpening the front of the cliffs that faced the sea. Sometimes, the earth yielded to the stubborn and persistent attacks of the waters and part of the cliffs collapsed into the sea, causing a gush of water to swallow the rocks. People told that fight was as old as Arda itself and that it would only cease the day when waters would completely cover the ground or when time came to an end. Some told that, a very long time ago - so long ago indeed that no one among the human race was able to remember - where people could see only endless ranges of immaculate sand, had once been high, proud cliffs. But the sea had defeated them, then had withdrawn to begin anew its work elsewhere. No one knew if stories about that eternal struggle between sea and ground were true, but they saw the sand and the cliffs and they wondered at this work of nature.   
  
But the traders did not care. The sea was the sea, unchanged for decades. They had seen it so many times the beauty no longer affected them. They left the wonder to the youth, those sailors who had not seen it before. There was still a long road to travel before they reached Gondor, and difficult trades to negotiate.   
  
Yet, all people did not share their lack of enthusiasm. If their unwavering gazes were fixed on the sandy road spreading out in front of them, others were not able to avert their eyes from the sea.   
  
This was the case of the figure standing on the shore, face turned toward the sea, a few feet away from his great and beautiful white boat resting on the soft sand, its large sails restrained to keep from flapping in the marine breeze. The beholder did not move, nor make any gesture. He remained but a faint and motionless figure to those who might have stared from the edge of the cliff.   
  
People, who might have watched him from far away, would have taken him for one of those Gondorians who often came to admire the sea, remaining on the shore for hours and departing before the end of the night. If they had taken a closer look, they would have seen this was no man.   
  
This was an elf. 

Standing straight and tall, he looked like a statue sculpted from the purest marble. His skin seemed to be made of alabaster, his face fascinating. His features were well-drawn and angular, like those of all the Firstborn. His nose was straight and noble, his cheekbones were sharp giving him a determined look. The line of his jaw was somewhat softer, attenuating the impression of harshness elicited by the angular features. His pale complexion brought out the dark pink of his lips that looked like two delicate petals. An accomplished artisan might have been able to capture the perfection of his features, the strength of his lithe body, or the silkiness of his braided flaxen hair, but even the most highly skilled would find it hard to duplicate the fierce expression in those bottomless eyes, eyes whose colour matched the sea.  
  
To human eyes, he was one of the Firstborn, a race cherished by Iluvatar, one of the last among the immortal fair folk lingering on Arda. But Elven eyes would have known better, noticing the slender, almost thin shape, the intricate design of the braids in his hair, the green colour of his outfit. They would have known that this was an elf of royal lines, a Wood Elf, a child of nature.... One who knew the language of trees and animals. The eyes of the elves were much sharper than those of men and would have seen that behind the motionless stance and fierce expression were hidden shadows and memories, hopes and disillusionment. They would have known without asking that the fair being was about to indulge in the call of the sea. He was to sail, to cross the ethereal ocean to meet his family and friends in the fair and far off Valinor.   
  
The elf was standing, his eyes fixed on the dark line of the horizon. He did not seem to breathe, as if the sea landing at his feet was stealing his breath and his capacity to act. In some way, this was true. He was not able to listen to the trees. For the first time in his long life, he was indifferent to the tall ancient beings. He knew that they were whispering sweet words and loving farewells to him. Nature had always cherished the Firstborn, and usually their affection was returned. He knew the trees would be distressed at his silence, but he did not care. Why should he? The sea was calling him, and its song was sweeter than theirs, stronger than theirs. None of what they said would have been as beautiful and bewitching as the call of the sea. None...  
   
He looked at it, watching in awe each of its movements. The sea was bewitching. The strong wind was agitating its usually calm surface, creating trails of froth, long and white, on the rolls of the waves, which were born somewhere in that vast surface and borrowed its strength from the marine breeze before crashing on the shore in a continuous rustling. On the horizon, Anar was rising from his slumber, lighting the sky, his long rays sliding on the dark mass of the sea, creating shimmering reflections in the water that welcomed his touch. In the sky were flying gulls that peacefully soared above the water, quickly going down, as if willing to caress the water with their wings, before rising again and letting out a cry that melted with the rustling of the waves. 

The sight was wondrous. So many colors, sounds and scents intoxicating the senses. All these made that moment unique and unforgettable. 

  
The Firstborn was unable to avert his eyes from the wild beauty displayed before him. He could only stare at it, his vision and heart filled with the magnificent glory that was the sea. He eagerly watched the view, trying to memorize every detail, every nuance taken by that great body of water. He watched, and it seemed he would never get his fill of this dream vision. Never had he seen anything more beautiful than this, with its might and its sensuality. . The very surface seemed agitated by moving shadows, creating thousands of whirlpools that appeared as many traps. People thought that the sea was a peaceful entity, and at first sight, this was true, but its stillness was a treacherous impression. Stillness was alien to the sea. In truth, violence was held within its very core. Its essence was not calm, but held a hidden power of a tempestuous nature.   
  
The elf watched and listened, his heart beating wildly in his constricted chest. He heard its call, stronger than ever. He understood its words and whatever doubts he might have had disappeared. He knew it. He felt it. And the strength of its will frightened him.   
  
The sea wanted him…   
  
He watched, fascinated, how long arms born of the marine froth stretched toward him, but failing to reach him were absorbed by the wet sand that had turned to a deep brown shade. The white foam left behind would then dry in the increasing warmth of the sun only to be washed away by a new surge of water.  
   
The sea wanted him. The sea beckoned to him. But he dared not move. Frozen in his tracks, He feared that if he touched it, he would never be able to leave this shore, forever lost in his pointless contemplation.  

The sea…

A lascivious name on his tongue, a broken sob of his soul, a painful ecstasy of his heart.

The sea…

So often had he dreamt of this moment. But this long-awaited event was also the most feared in his long life. Today should have been the most beautiful day and, in way, it was. But it was also the most defeating. He was going to indulge inthe treacherous temptation of the songs that had haunted his dreams during the last years. He was to cross the sea and to meet his love again. But which gave him the greatest pleasure? He simply preferred not to know. 

  
There were questions one should never answer.

Upon his tongue was the salty taste of the sea...a taste mixed with relief and happiness yet mingled with bitterness...bitterness at the realization of his defeat and of his failure. 

  
That thought almost made him snort. Almost, because no sound passed his closed lips.   
  
Failure... a strange word he thought he would never use to describe himself. Failure. Defeat. These were words unfamiliar to him, until now. It may seem pretentious yet it was true. He was an Elven warrior, a beloved Prince and a respected Lord. He never considered the possibility that he could fail…such thoughts would have led to disaster. He had fought so many battles, faced many foes, helped defeat Sauron and destroy the unique ring. He had helped restore the beauty of Ithilien and build a strong and affluent colony. And now, he found he was defeated by himself...by the insidious seduction of the sea and his own weakness, his own inability to resist the call of the sea. 

Men would say that the sea was a demanding lover. Sailors even called it a jealous woman. He had first heard those words a long time ago, and he had laughed, mocking the superstition and the childishness of the human race. Now, standing here at the edge of the sea, he realized it was he who had been childish that day so very long ago, laughing at the roomful of men as they talked of the sea. He had laughed at something he had never known, or even experienced. But now he knew the charms the ethereal entity could exert on one willing to listen to its voice.   
  


Thinking back, he remembered so well the first day he had heard of the sea. Such a subject was not frequent in his realm of Mirkwood, where the call of the sea was considered a curse, causing all who heard to quickly leave their forest home, forsaking those they loved. He had been in the vale of Imladris when he asked his lover about the sea. They had been lying upon the vast bed, its sheets damp and crumpled from their frolicking. The window curtains had been opened, revealing a part of the starry sky. Ithil's light had been falling upon them, making his beloved's velvety alabaster skin glow, enhancing the deep contrast between its paleness and the raven hair falling on the pillow. They faced each other, long legs tangled, fingers twinned, their breathing calm and their hearts content. Breaking the harmonious silence, he had asked his dark beauty if he had ever seen the sea, which was so often described in the scrolls and the books in his library. He had noticed how the bottomless gray eyes he loved so much had taken a thoughtful and saddened shade when he had heard the question**,** and he regretted having asked it for fear of awakening painful memories. However, his love smiled and stretched a hand to caress his blond hair, taking a few seconds to ponder the question. Then, with simplicity and honesty which always characterized the Lord of Imladris, he spoke of the sea...of its beauty and its song. He spoke with such longing that the younger elf felt the pain of jealousy spreading to his heart.   
  
That had been many years ago, indeed many centuries ago. He had been young and carefree, with a song on his lips and his love for the raven-haired Lord in his heart. That night, he had understood for the first time that one day he would lose his love to the sea...the sea he had never seen. Hate had grown toward that unknown entity, and he swore the sea would never have him. He would sail whenever he decided, not the sea. Thinking back, he realized he had been arrogant that day, but did not know it at the time.

   
But fate had decided otherwise...   
  
He had joined the Quest, knowing that the day the dark power of Sauron was destroyed, his lover would leave these shores, leaving him on Arda. How ironic....  
  
He had refused to heed Galadriel's words when she warned him of what awaited him if he heard the cry of the gulls. But he had not listened, thinking his contempt for the sea would prevent him from being lured by its falsity and trap. He faced his destiny, wondering why the one he loved was willing to leave him behind. He wanted to understand what the sea had that he had not. He wanted to know what it could offer that he could not give. He thought that the gulls could cry, the waves could crash upon the sand, and it would have no effect on him. He was strong, and could not be forced to do that which he refused. No one could force him to sail when he had decided otherwise. 

  
But then, on the dangerous path of the quest, he had heard it, and his world crumbled into a thousand tiny pieces.   
  
On that fateful day so long ago, a nimble bird had risen into the clear blue sky, his long white wings expanded, enabling him to glide on the wind. A gull. As he watched, it seemed as if time stood still. He saw it open its beak, emitting a shrill cry...a cry that had awakened many sensations in his mind, heart, and soul. Confusion and happiness, pleasure and pain, hate and love. He pushed these feeling aside and stood on the shore, challenging the sea to take him away. The only answer to his unspoken question had been the marine breeze caressing his fair face, as if to mesmerize. Unbeknownst to him, he had been given the first kiss of the sea...and it would mean the end of him. 

Anar had now completely risen, the burning sphere shining brightly in the sky, making the sea transparent to the sharp Elven sight. The wind had calmed and the deep waters seemed to have quietened. He could make out a vast coral reef where colored shoals of fish were swimming, hiding themselves from the predators that sought to hunt them. The picture was beautiful. The long rays of the sun seemed to stroke languidly at the waves, warming them. It looked as if the sea was leaning into the caress in a sensual response. A warm sensation spread in the heart of the Firstborn.   
  
The sea was seduction, charm, grace, and bewitchment. To say that he was indifferent to this seduction would have been a lie. There was naught in the blue depths that did not appeal to him, enthral him or call to him. It seemed the voice never ceased to resound, murmuring restlessly from within the tumbling waves. It seemed as if he could hear his name among the whispered words of the ethereal being.  
  
Legolas…  
  
Briefly, he closed his eyes against the disarray of his senses in the soft darkness. Recalling a memory, he answered the whisper of the sea, uttering the name of his beloved, his voice carried softly to blend with that of the wind.  
  
Elrond…  
  


He wondered briefly if his lover had felt its call with the same intensity. Had he been so blind that he had not seen the suffering in the dark-haired Lord's gray eyes? He did not know. His heart tightened in his chest when he thought of the day his beloved had left Arda, asking one last time if he would join him. And he had refused, wanting to keep the promise he had made to his mortal friends, to sail when he had felt the desire to do so, willing to choose his own fate in spite of the sea.   
  
The sea… It had been then a mere murmur in his head, calling him softly when his mind had been devoid of any thoughts. It had been so easy to ignore it, to go on as if nothing had changed. Yet, things had changed: his lover had left and the sea had come. The latter filling the void his beloved had left in his heart.   
  
Time had passed quickly at first, day after day, in a symphony clearly orchestrated. Not a day had passed without it being filled with duties, councils and meetings. There had been so many things to build, so many things to achieve. In the beginning of Elessar's rule, Ithilien had been a mere dream, a mere vision, which he had been charged with making into reality. The task had been great and challenging but he had never complained. Ruling the growing colony had taught him many things and helped him to remain in contact with Arda. Rebuilding Ithilien had been everything he had wished for. It provided a new challenge in his life that had recently been shattered by his beloved's departure.   
  
Then one day, there had been nothing left to build. The challenge of the new beginning was now spent, and his life had become habit. With this habit came the full realization of his loneliness, of the loss of his lover. His heart ached as it had never ached before. His bed had never felt so vast and empty, the sheets cold and lonely, the stars less comforting. Where once they had been sparkling in the darkened sky, their light now seemed to avoid him, as if he had lost the cherished blessing of Ithil. He had spent numerous nights awake, thinking of the passion he had shared with his lord. He could have taken another lover ; he was a beautiful elf, desired by many, but others had held little interest for him. He only desired one...one who was so far away, out of his reach.   
  
So many times he had closed his eyes, avoiding the harsh reality of his growing despair, and imagined that he had been back in Elrond's rooms, back in his warm embrace. Here, he was far from the cold emptiness of his own chambers. He had imagined his beloved's hand giving him pleasure, touching him, making him shiver in unspent passion. With his eyes closed, he imagined his lover's face, his dark beauty and piercing eyes, his glorious body. As he recalled the memories, he could almost feel his beloved's gaze, his eyes glazed with the mist of desire, framed by long, thick eyelashes, which gave his pupils so much depth. He could almost feel warm breath caressing his cheek, could almost smell his dark beauty's scent, made of pine and running rivers. Almost. As his orgasm claimed him, he opened his eyes, and the reality caught up with him. It was his own hand on his heated flesh, the northern breeze on his cheek, his own imagination bringing forth images of the past. It was then that he closed his eyes and wept, his sobs muffled in the softness of his pillow. 

  
Time passed, slowly. Night was replaced by day in an unending cycle, each day exactly like the previous, each night a reminder of the one before. Nights spent imagining what it would be like to be held by his lover in fair Valinor. He wanted his lover, needed him. He felt himself locked in a tower of solitude, his loneliness slowly, lazily, seeping into his distressed mind.  
  
The sea…  
  
He had felt its insidious caress, its feather touch in his soul and, at first, he had fought back. But the sea was a stubborn opponent that never released its prey. Its song had become more vivid with every passing night as he lay in his room in Ithilien, its notes twirling in a maddening waltz. There were times he would feel as if he were back on that shore....a shore he had trodden only once. He could remember vividly the gulls flying in the sky and the waves crashing upon the sand. It was at these times that he knew the sea was beckoning to him, and he tried to resist, not willing to listen to what he had known to be a mere illusion. But insistently, the sea had returned, calling to him in his dreams, promising many pleasures and less pain, speaking to him of his loneliness and suffering. Every night it had come back, luring him more and more. In the end, he had not the strength to fight any longer. It had been much easier to simply listen...to let it enter his mind and fill his soul.

  
Bit by bit, the caress of the sea had replaced the touch of his beloved. All was fading from memory...the feel of his lover's hand in his own, the scent of his skin, the caress of breath, the pleasure of his kisses, the love in his words and the heat of his body. Everything had fadedfrom memory, leaving only the sea. It seemed to the flaxen-haired elf that he had been immersed in an ocean of liquid peace, rocked by the sensual caress of the waves, the smell of the salty water filling his lungs.  
  
Naught had seemed more right, more pleasant.   
  
And each morning, when Anar had risen in the sky, he had cursed himself for his weakness, and for the willing torment he had bestowed upon himself. Each day he hadpromised to be stronger, but at night, he would hear the call of the sea and would cry out his beloved's name, desperate to find an anchor in his world.  
  
The sea…  
  
The sea   
  
Forever in his heart, forever in his mind, never giving him respite. The love of the sea was painful, demanding. It asked everything of him, taking every inch of his former self, forbidding him to think of anyone else.  
  
For a long time, the hopeless battle continued, like a painful dual between night and day, strength and weakness, promise and need. Time slowed, becoming more exhausting for him. He knew he had changed. His inward struggles tired him, taking its toll on his exhausted spirit. He felt the glances people cast his direction, the murmurs behind his back, but he cared not. He had no strength left to care. But with the death of Elessar came deliverance. Nothing bound him to Arda any longer. That place had lost all interest to him, even the trees brought him no comfort.   
  
In Ithilien, he had built the ship that was now moored offshore, the ship on which he would sail. As he built it, he had felt a peace within, a peace not felt in many years. How he had enjoyed the feel of the smooth wood on his palm as he built the hull and helm first. Then, with the help of other elves, fixed the high mast. Skilled maidens had crafted the great sails, and it had made his heart sing when finally they had been lashed to the masts. It was at this point he realized everything was ready, and the great ship waited just off the beach of the Anduin for him and his friend Gimli... waiting for the day he made his decision to finally set sail.   
  
He remembered his heart had hammered in his chest like a wild colt on the vast plains of Gondor as he sailed his great ship the length of the Anduin. So long had he waited for this moment...so long. His hand had quivered with impatience on the helm, his face the unreadable mask of the Firstborn, but his heart was like that of a blushing maiden awaiting her lover.   
  
Now, there it was, finally. Stretching out before him…  
  
The sea…  
  
He almost could not believe it was in front of him, that he could feel the sand beneath his feet, that he could pick up a handful of it and let it drip between his fingers. He felt so well. He felt at home. He would have remained here for days, listening to the soothing sound of the waves crushing on the bank.  
  
He had lost the fight with himself, but felt relieved nonetheless. Men said the sea was a cursed mistress. In his heart, he knew they were right. He had defied the sea, and it had exacted its revenge. The sea would never let him go. He who fought against its call caught its full attention. He thought himself strong, but found he was like those high cliffs gnawed by the waves. No one could resist. It had taken time, but he had learned his lesson. The sea had taken everything from him.

  
And for this affliction, he knew only one remedy.   
  
He closed his eyes and called his lover's name once more, as if he could be heard on the other side.  
  
"Elrond, I come, my love"  
  
The sea would never get the best of him. It may have filled his heart, filled his dreams and filled his nights, but it would never take his love for the dark-haired elf.   
  
He shook his head, tearing himself from his reverie and, turning on his heels, walked toward the great ship resting on the sand.

  
  
The end


End file.
